


the only person you need to be better than is the person you were yesterday

by cestmabiologie



Series: [prompted.] [3]
Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 14:51:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5789545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cestmabiologie/pseuds/cestmabiologie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alison Hendrix + Broken Glass</p>
            </blockquote>





	the only person you need to be better than is the person you were yesterday

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: alcohol

Donnie had known about the buttons jar, of course, but he didn’t know about all of her little hiding places. And she had many. Her favourite spot was inside a box of powdered laundry detergent, inconspicuous on a shelf behind three other identical Value Size boxes of soap. (She’d been inspired by Glendale Community Theatre’s costume department: it was always stocked with a full bottle of vodka to deal with stains. She’d used it for a few emergencies.) Donnie wasn’t allowed to do the laundry. They both knew that he couldn’t be trusted to separate by colour, to use cold water to keep the brights from bleeding, to empty pockets. And the detergent would never run so low that some unsuspecting hand might reach into that last box.

Now that she was sure that the house was empty, she reached in. She moved methodically from room to room (not Oscar’s room, no, and not Gemma’s, and not the family room, no not there, of course not there) and found every last bottle and lined them up on the counter. She stared at them and felt _weak_. 

And then she startled herself by slapping one of the bottles off the counter. She jumped back as it hit the floor and shattered. Her heart thrummed with satisfaction. This was what she’d needed all along. Not sessions and sharing circles and roleplaying activities. Those things weren’t therapeutic—they were calls to act. To prove. To be exactly who she thinks she should be (which is exactly her _not_ in rehab or needing rehab or anywhere near rehab).

She picked up another and let it drop. Bits of glass skittered across the linoleum and tiny droplets spattered the cabinets. She dropped another. She’d climb up on the roof and drop it onto the asphalt if she could (she couldn’t)(people might see). She dropped another (smash). She dropped another (gone). She dropped another (it was plastic and it bounced and rolled away). Then there were no more to drop. 

Alison let out a gulp of breath. The air smelled and tasted like her first year of university (like something that was distinctly part of her past). She should open a window. She should get out the broom. 

She should get out the mop. She should get down onto her hands and knees and scrub away this mess once and for all.


End file.
